If it's love
by i fell in love with a villain
Summary: a small book of Jake/Brad drabbles.
1. Heat

When I think of Brad, I think of heat.

The heat of his lips on mine, the heat of his skin, the heat of his gaze, the heat of his touch, the heat of his words, the heat of his breath, the heat of his passion, the heat of his hatred, the heat of his love, the heat of his smile, the heat of his presence, the heat of sex, the heat of his suspicion, the heat of his cruelty, the heat of his voice, the heat of his forgiveness, the heat of his lies, the heat of his bitterness.

When I think of Brad, I think of heat.


	2. Blindfold

"Jakey."

He grimaced at the familiar taunting voice. Jake lifted his head, having been quite absorbed in the book he was reading. He glared at the intruder, his feet twitching from where they were perched on the coffee table, having the sudden overwhelming urge to kick him. He sustained it.

"Brad…"

"Since I'm stuck here for another hour, the least you could do is entertain me," Brad said willfully, staring intently at an annoyed Jake. Brad's parents had decided to take a date night but didn't trust Brad to stay at the house alone, since apparently last time they went out he threw a huge party that resulted in four hospital visits, many broken objects, and police involvement. You get the point…so Jake's mom, apparently friends with Brad's mom, offered to keep an eye on him. Then she ditched Jake with his dad and sister to go to pizza. But Jake had to read his book for school (he liked it, surprisingly) and had to babysit Brad, who enjoyed bothering Jake a lot.

"Entertain yourself," Jake snapped. "I'm reading."

Brad frowned. "Fine, nerd, I'll just find something to do."

Jake dropped his book a millisecond later, jumping to his feet. "Never mind. Fine, I'll entertain you, what about TV?" he ground out. He just remembered why Brad was here – for destroying his own house. Leaving him alone wouldn't be a good idea.

Brad grinned in triumph, shrugging his jacket off and flopping next to Jake happily on the couch. Jake sat back down wearily.

"I have an idea. Close your eyes."

"What the hell? Why?"

"Just do it."

"No!"

"Do it."

"I'm not an idiot!"

"_Jake_," he said with intense eyes, lips set into a frown. Jake cringed.

"Ugh, fine, but don't do something weird."

His eyes closed too quickly to catch Brad's smirk. "There." He growled. Silence. Jake had the urge to open his eyes but didn't, merely crossing his arms impatiently, not sure what game Brad was playing at. He grew even more annoyed at the silence and almost opened his eyes when suddenly something warm covered his mouth.

At first he thought Brad did something weird, like put a dead animal on his mouth or something, so his eyes snapped open in rage….then he saw what it really was; Brad was kissing him. Like…mouth-to-mouth kissing, full on make out. Brad's lips were moving against his too, warm and wet and enticing. Jake almost closed his eyes again and kissed back but then remembered who this was and reeled back with a girly shriek.

"THE HELL!"

Brad wiped his mouth then licked his lips, satisfied. "I'm hungry. Make me a sandwich."

Jake gawked at him. Brad stood, lopping into the kitchen. A moment after Jake continued to sit there gaping he heard Brad call from the kitchen; "Come on Jakey, or else I'll try to heat up a ham sandwich! With the microwave!"

-- and Jake was gone.


	3. Creativity

Brad always found creative ways to bully me.

Like in seventh grade, he stole Derek's – the head wrestler at our middle school – favorite pet rat Cheese and put him in my locker. When I opened my locker that day he fell out squealing, and Derek stormed on over, rescued his rat, then pummeled me to a pulp behind the school the same day. Then Brad came out and kicked a trash can over so it landed all over me. He always had to go that extra mile on the 'weird' road.

Brad always found creative ways to confuse me.

He would say things that made me wonder what he meant, or touch me in a way that someone who hates you shouldn't touch you. He'd treat me gently one moment then beat me up the next. He'd be in the middle of beating my face in then suddenly stop and start kissing me, as if hoping his lips would heal my bleeding ones. He'd always make my head spin and soon I wouldn't know what's up and what's down with him.

Brad always found creative ways to make me love him.

It would be the tiniest thing; the way he ran his fingers through his hair, or chew his pencil. It would be the way he looked at me during class when no one was looking, or the subtle looks during lunch and football games. It was the way he walked, like he was the only thing on earth that mattered. It was the way he kissed me, even if my whole body hurt, his kiss would be enough. He made me a hopeless, sickening person.

Brad always found creative ways to make me want him, ache for him, cry for him, yearn for him, wait for him – but Brad always made me confused and scared. He found creative ways to play games with me without breaking my heart, yet doing it without me even realizing it.

Brad found ways to  
rip my heart apart  
as I dreamt about his kiss.


End file.
